


Unraveling

by destiel_oh_hell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Angst, Background Sabriel, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Love/Hate, M/M, Sexual Content, Slow Build, mentions of Michael - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destiel_oh_hell/pseuds/destiel_oh_hell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Throughout the dreadful pain of high school, Castiel Novak has had to deal with many things. But the most prominent issue in his teenage life has been Dean Winchester. It's the end of junior year when the two finally meet, and their complicated lack of a relationship comes to an end when the school year is over, or so it seems.<br/>They aren't expecting to meet again at an out-of-the-way summer camp. And they sure as hell aren't expecting to discover a little something more in eachother than they saw in the simple glances exchanged. One abnormal summer will teach two young boys that there's alot more to a person than can be seen through a simple glance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1: A Startling Shift

It’s always been difficult to grab Castiel’s attention. Not just get a speedy glance, but really _grab_ it, dig into it with your nails and all. So it should’ve been surprising to Castiel when he noticed that his stares were growing more and more intense. But it came as no surprise when, instead of stealing a look, he’d be entranced by the glowing figure that stumbled carelessly into his fourth period class every weekday.

Obviously, it wasn’t just anyone that had caught his attention so easily. It was Dean Winchester. It was the most complex human Castiel had ever laid eyes on. He wasn’t popular, by any means. He had his fair share of friends, but wasn’t known by the whole high school, as Castiel thought he should’ve been. How could this intricately built figure of beauty not fascinate the hormonal population of their large school? It was a true mystery. However, Castiel cherished the fact that Dean wasn’t crowded by hypnotized teenage girls. Instead, the boy usually trudged along the halls alone, completely vulnerable to Castiel’s vision and admiration.

It's a Tuesday when the tables turn. For the first time this year, Castiel is almost late to fourth period. He overestimates the amount of objects that can be carried by a slender, pale young student whose only athletic skill comes from the occasional morning run on the weekends. Not only does he take a long time to lug the books to his destination, but he drops them repeatedly. When he does make it to class, his breathing is heavy and fast, and his delicate hands ache from the load.

“Sorry I’m late,” Castiel mumbles quietly as he makes his way to his usual seat, positioned in the second-to-last row of desks.

“You can give me your reasoning after class, Mr. Novak,” Mrs. Prime orders strictly.

The teacher turns back to the chalkboard to write out the “warm-up” problem for the class. It's hardly a warm-up, seeing as it's more difficult than the whole homework assignment, but nonetheless, Castiel’s glaring fails to erase it from the board. With a sigh, he yanks out his notebook and begins to work on his worst and least favorite subject: math. As he scribbles away, Castiel feels almost as if he's being watched. Self consciously, he looks over his left shoulder to meet the scalding gaze of none other than Dean Winchester himself.

Castiel’s chapped lips fall into a small “o”. He exhales shakily, taking the time to observe Dean’s stunning countenance. His dark lashes are longer than average, and they rest well on his unblemished skin. Castiel would like to touch that skin. It looks as if it’d be smooth, like the cover of a new book; it's just begging to be ghosted over by fingertips, worshipped with a slow motion of the hand. His dark, tousled hair also deserves to be felt through. If he could, Castiel would bury his hands in that hair, drifting his nails lightly over the skin below, eliciting a breathy moan from Dean’s plump pink lips-

“Hey.”

At that, Castiel flinches out of his daydream, biting the inside of his cheek. Did Dean Winchester just talk to him?

"Uh, hey," Castiel replies hesitantly, still unsure whether or not he'd imagined that.

"I'm Dean. Dean Winchester." He flashes his pearly white teeth in a grin, and Castiel swears that his heartbeat increases tenfold. 

"I'm Castiel. We have fourth period together." Immediately after the comment leaves his mouth, Castiel wishes it back with all of his heart and soul. His first conversation with the glorious Dean Winchester and he screws it up with five words. Fan-friggin-tastic.

"Yeah. I almost thought you wouldn't be showing up to it today. Why were you late, huh?"

Castiel feels his face heaten. Why would Dean notice if he was late? There had to be a logical answer. He was probably just waiting for the seat in front of him to be filled. Yes, that had to be it. Dean Winchester wouldn't be anticipating his arrival, of course. He didn't even know that Castiel existed. Well, he probably did know that he existed, what with Castiel's seating and all, but-

"Did you lose your speech ability?" Dean questions expectantly, his lips moving in an annoyingly attractive way with the words. Suddenly, Castiel is determined to defy him. If Dean wanted to be rude, well, Castiel would show him. It would be simple to resist his charm. Easy, really.

 "No, I just choose not to respond to assbutts like you," Castiel retorts. He twists back to the board defiantly, attempting to pay attention to the lesson even with Dean Winchester practically breathing down his neck. It's not easy, however, to ignore the deep chuckle that follows his valorous action. 

Oh god, how he wished that this attraction wasn't completely and utterly one-sided. He could be so good to Dean. He would treat him the way he deserved to be treated. Castiel would praise his very being, laying open-mouthed kisses on every inch of him, every little bit of skin Dean didn't know could be pleasured. He'd drag his tongue lazily along the sleek insides of Dean's thighs, caressing the skin along the bones of his hips, and Dean would yank him back up to meet him in a rushed kiss as the rest of their bodies aligned in harmony and slid past eachother with perfect friction-

Snapping him out of his fantasy, Castiel feels a blazing, almost wet, breath hit his right ear. He almost yelps, but the bite of his teeth against his tongue prevent it at the last second. Rather than exclaiming, Castiel puts all of his shock and further arousal into faltering breaths, tightening his grip on the edge of the desk. 

"Assbutt," Dean begins to growl huskily, and Castiel can almost feel Dean's tongue tracing his skin, "is not a word." It shouldn't sound downright  _sexy,_ but somehow it does anyway, and it makes Castiel want to do oh so many things to Dean Winchester that he shouldn't be even thinking of, especially not in math class, of all things. Castiel forces his breaths to slow into long inhales and exhales until he doesn't feel so exhilarated and his pants don't feel two sizes too small. 

After what seems like eternity, class comes to an end with the dull ring of the bell. Castiel explains why he was late hurriedly to Mrs. Price, and bounds out of the classroom without even a look back at Dean Winchester. He should feel proud for resisting the urge, but really, he just feels a swelling sickness in his gut that might be regret.

Castiel's feet have never moved so quickly, and he speeds toward the cafeteria with thoughts swirling in his mind like a tornado. It's close to effortless to carry his books this time, their spines visible to the rest of the hall, stacked in a neat pile. His arms are flexed under the rough material of his trench coat, and the collar rubs irritatingly against his neck like a persistent itch. 

When he reaches the bland lunch table at which Gabriel, Balthazar, and Lucifer lounge, Castiel heaves down the bunch with a sigh and collapses next to it. 

"Whoa there bro, you don't look so good.." Gabriel states, sitting up with wide eyes, abandoning a half-eaten lollipop that drops onto the stained concrete floor unnoticed.

"You look how I feel," Lucifer comments dryly. He's been stressed throughout his whole senior year, it seems, with college looming in the horizon. Fortunately, none of the other Novak siblings have had to deal too much with that trouble, Castiel and Balthazar being juniors and Gabriel being a sophomore. Sure, they've had to think about it and visit various colleges, but they've all still got time to decide on one. It shouldn't be too much of a worry. Intelligence seems to run in the family. 

"Today is both the worst and best day in my existence."

"What happened?" Gabriel inquires. Castiel can almost imagine him as a playful puppy, ears perking up with interest at the topic.

"Dean Winchester happened," Castiel clarifies.

"I don't see what you find so alluring about that boy, Cassie," Balthazar says.

 "Did you two do the dirty? You have that aroused look about you," Lucifer observes, prompting Castiel to wish he could shoot lasers from his eyes.

"We talked. He was very impolite," Castiel speaks drearily.

"He did always seem like a douche. The brother, though-"

"Gabriel, I'm certain that nobody here desires to hear what you want to do to poor Sam Winchester," Lucifer shoots.

" _Poor_ Sam Winchester? He wouldn't look so poor with my-"

"May I eat in peace?" Castiel pleads, shuffling through his brown lunch bag.

Only when his sandwich has been consumed does Castiel dare to peek over at the table where Dean resides. He feels like he's going to throw up his lunch when he realizes that all of the table members' eyes are affixed on him. One by one, their attention is brought back to the table, except for Dean. He looks deep in thought, focused on Castiel. Castiel yearns to break the intense connection until he sees something more lingering in the eyes of the enigma that is Dean Winchester. He can't decipher what exactly that "something more" is. It's like a crack in green stained glass from an unknown cause.

For some reason, Castiel wants to discover that cause. And everything else he can about the incredibly frustrating yet intriguing Dean Winchester.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first try for Destiel fanfiction that I've actually completed a portion of (as I usually criticize myself until I delete the entire work), so if bits of it are choppily written, I hope it's understandable.
> 
> I also hope that everybody reading enjoyed, and stay tuned for the next update!


	2. 2: Stunning Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner brings about new discoveries for Dean.

Despite the weirdness of it all, Dean likes Castiel Novak. He likes the way the boy always looks like he's doing errands, like every bit and piece of his life is a job that would someday fit together the puzzle of the bigger picture. He likes the way the boy is always clumsily moving about with a collection of novels perched precariously in his pale grasp. He likes, well, a lot of things about Castiel Novak. A lot of things he hadn't stumbled upon until after the awkward encounter in fourth period on the Tuesday of three weeks ago.

Now that it's the week of finals, Dean doesn't have much time to recount things like the way Castiel's jaw tenses when Mrs. Price tells him to study hard before he leaves the classroom every day. Instead, it's time to stay in his room all weekend with the occasional food break, and study with Led Zeppelin blasting from his headphones.

Castiel. What an odd name. For an odd guy. Huh.

Dean mouths the name, letting it erupt from his throat and rest silkily upon his tongue. It sounds nearly holy. Ancient beyond his years yet curious all the same. He supposes it's fitting. Castiel seems like the kind of guy who looks like one thing but has infinite plot twists hidden up his sleeve. That wasn't what Dean's friends had said at the table that day, though. They'd instead mused about the way Castiel's eyes widened whenever Dean passed by, and how they hadn't thought much of it but now it made sense. Dean had, and still has, no idea what they meant by that.

Again, Dean allows the name to roll out of his mouth smoothly. Dean wonders how it would be written. With rough, pressured pencil markings? Or with graceful, light strokes of a pen? He wets his lips, then draws his attention back to the papers in front of him. Hm. Tentatively, Dean picks up a sharpened pencil from the case propped open next to a notebook, and brings the point of it to one of the papers. He begins to write the name, starting with a capitalized _C_ that looks very small on the lined paper, then-

The pounding on the door turns the neatly scripted letter into a streak across the page. Dean swears under his breath, then clears his throat.

“Yeah?”

“Dinner’s ready, Dean,” Sam shouts lightly.

Dean swings the door open, eyes lowering to meet the innocent eyes of his younger brother, Sam.

“I’ll be down in a sec, kay?”

Sam nods, his hair flopping up and down with the movement. Dean backs into his room again, letting his hand drag against the white door as he watches Sam go down the stairs. He returns to his desk at which a study guide with a random curl intended to be a _C_ turns into a lengthy streak, interrupting words and numbers sprawled about the paper. Dean sighs, closing his eyes for a moment as if the mark would disappear if he couldn’t see it. When he peeks out of one green eye, the flaw is still there, and two minutes pass before the worn eraser positioned in between his fingers has disposed of the defect.

Dean tramps down the stairs to the dinner table, which is cluttered by a few plates, some water glasses, and a blue tablecloth that reminds him of something that he can’t recall. He brushes off the feeling to greet his parents and ruffle Sammy’s hair, which “pisses him off”, he yells at Dean, but there’s definitely a small smile there.

“How goes the studying, boys?” John questions, digging into his meal like there’s no tomorrow.

“Great! I think I’m prepared for everything but I need to work more on chemistry, which is my worst subject-” Sam babbles on. Surrounded by his family, Dean feels content. He’d never admit it, but hearing Sam buzzing on excitedly about his education and all that shit gives him this warm feeling inside because his brother is getting exactly what he wants out of life so far and that’s really all that matters about it.

“What about you, Dean? You better not be slacking off to watch that doctor whatever show.”

Dean feels his chest constrict and his throat dries as he glances up at his father’s serious face. Obviously Dean doesn’t resent him for it, but Sam’s always been the smart one in the family. He’s the one who wins the awards and loves learning and knows exactly where he and his life are headed. But Dean? Junior year’s almost over, and he still has no fucking idea what he’s going to do after high school. He’s trying his hardest right now just to get past these exams and maintain his A’s, not that John or anybody else notices. Honestly, his grades aren’t that much lower than Sam’s, and he only receives an occasional B+ from time to time but usually gets A’s and A-’s. It doesn’t seem to matter.

“I’ve been studying,” Dean manages to get out.

“You better be. You’re gonna be a senior next year, after all.”

Dean wants to squeeze his eyes shut and disappear into the air.

“Yeah. Everyone keeps telling me that.”

The tension at the table feels electric. Sam, virtuous as ever, looks sympathetically over at Dean, who now looks fixedly at his plate of food, shuffling around the scabrous pieces with a silver fork. Sam swallows, sitting back in his chair and leaving his food to chill. Dean knows Sam wishes he could do something or would do something, but that’s not who he is. Dean’s always been the one to stand up for Sam, not the other way around, and it’s not about to change just because John has an attitude.

“Summer’s coming up,” Sam mentions weakly.

“What do you guys think you’ll be doing? Anything special?” Mary asks, genuinely interested.

“Kevin’s going to some summer camp. It sounds like fun,” Sam says.

“You’re not seriously thinking of wasting your summer away at some lame camp, are you?”

“John..” Mary warns.

“Alot of other kids are doing it,” Sam defends.

“Other kids? Who?”

“Uh.. some of the juniors and sophomores got asked to supervise. Like Gabriel.” When Sam mentions this “Gabriel” dude, John stiffens noticeably.

“The Novak kid? With an ass-load of brothers and the creepy _crush_ on you?”

Dean knew that name had sounded familiar. Gabriel Novak is the one who’s had the crush on Sam for years. The crush that literally everybody in the school is aware of except for Sam himself. He almost smiles as Sam’s eyes widen with shock, but stops himself as he acknowledges that they’re arguing right now. Dean doesn’t really consider Gabriel’s crush to be creepy. In fact, it’s more endearing than creepy. He supposes the appropriate term is strange. Strange like Gabriel’s brother. Actually, brothers. He has a ton of them. Lucifer, Balthazar, and Castiel. Apparently, the oldest, Michael, graduated a year ago. Lucifer’s the next up, then Balthazar (who they adopted on a trip to Britain, as the rumors say, which is also strange as hell) and Castiel, then finally Gabriel himself. Their whole family is almost separate from the rest of the school, with their private table and private lives.

“John! That’s enough,” Mary declares loudly. “If Sam really wants to go to this camp, he’s going. He’s aced everything his whole life, never gotten in an ounce of trouble, and deserves to do something for himself.”

After the raising of her voice, Mary seems to quiet everybody down, and the clanging of silverware returns for a few minutes before anybody dares to speak again.

“Okay,” John submits. “But he’s not going alone. If he needs to go so badly, Dean can go with him.”

“I’m supposed to be working with Bobby at the garage this summer!” Dean protests. He stops himself from continuing when he sees the desperate expression on Sam’s face.

“Fine,” Dean murmurs his assent, pushing his plate away as his appetite fades at the discovery that his summer will not be filled with mechanics and cars, but alternatively with a summer camp full of bratty, horny teenagers. Damn.

Dean dismisses himself from dinner with a curt goodbye. He speeds hastily up the stairs and slips his bedroom door shut behind him. He stays there, with his back to the wood and his hand resting on the stinging metal of the knob, for a while. Then he lets himself sink to the floor, drawing in his knees to form a small human ball, releasing his head in order for it to bounce down onto the tips of his thighs. Dean scrunches his eyes shut, breathing slowly.

Summer is going to fucking suck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post this now because I'd rather update on Saturdays rather than a weekday when I go back to school (I had spring break this week), so I could start right now. I also wanted to get more of the plot going, seeing as the summer camp idea is introduced in this chapter.  
> Hope you enjoyed, please stay tuned for the next update, coming Saturday!


	3. 3: Adventures in Toothpaste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel meets a species of moose and has trouble purchasing a necessity at a gas station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reference for when you stumble upon the word "alist" in this chapter-  
> Today, I discovered that although alist is in To Kill A Mockingbird, the definition is not inputed in dictionary.com. For those unaware of its meaning, it's an adjective meaning "tilted to the side", as one of my literature courses taught me.

It’s the last day of the school year, and the only remaining final happens to be the simplest of them all. The relief is evident upon all students’ faces as they speed through their packets with flying fingers and slight smiles spread across their faces. The smile on Castiel’s face, however, is not quite as radiant as the rest.

Yesterday, Castiel shuffled through the three papers that listed the supplies necessary for the camp he’d be attending this summer. It came as a shock to him that he owned every item that was completely crucial for the trip- except for one. Toothpaste. Out of everything, flipping toothpaste. It wasn’t normal toothpaste; of course he owned that. There was one specific word that changed everything. _Mini_ toothpaste. And in parentheses, it eloquently stated that mini toothpaste, not your average toothpaste, was imperative in order to lessen the space required for baggage. Castiel didn’t see how any amount of clothing and lavish belongings were permitted, and yet the toothpaste had to be smaller.

This whole camp is destined to be preposterous.

But Gabriel had been so joyous when he’d confirmed that everyone in their family who hadn’t yet graduated would be attending as a last hurrah before the responsibilities set in, and Castiel wasn’t one to take that satisfaction away from his brother. So he’d said yes. Only now did he realize what a weighted “yes” that had been.

In only a few minutes, Castiel completes his final (he had been hoping to be the first in his class, and despite all of his wishes, some redhead finished early and bounced out of the classroom to pop in some earbuds and blast up a song Castiel had never heard of but could definitely hear from inside of the classroom), and meanders out of the cramped space. His eyes slide from left to right, searching the halls for his brother who’d promised to be here at exactly- oh. It’s ten minutes earlier than Castiel had predicted. He really did finish early.

Castiel drifts through the halls without a purpose, enjoying the silence of the school. With every echoing step he takes, Castiel finds his mood rising and rising until everything in sight seems exquisite. The lockers are incandescent, the normally blinding lights are clinquant, and the floors glitter like a clear doorknob. He can’t help it when his lips twitch up and a small portion of his pearly whites are flashed. In the middle of his craze, Castiel notices that it’s only a minute from his scheduled meeting with his brother. He drops from his high like a racing bullet, and turns around only to run into a wall.

No, wait. That’s not a wall. It’s a person. Castiel flinches back from the collision, perfectly prepared to blurt out his apologies and flee the scene, but the human-shaped wall begins to speak in a giddy tone.

“Hey, sorry! I wasn’t really looking around, I just got out of my last final, so!”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry,” Castiel mutters, tilting his head alist in confusion at the exhilarated boy.

His hair appears to be a lighter shade of brown, which curls in an unfamiliar fashion at the ends. Castiel drags his vision from the atypical sight to land upon a puzzling set of eyes which seem to change color every few seconds, differing from the previous shade whenever a new stream of light hits them. Castiel blinks. Somehow, the word moose comes to mind, although it has absolutely nothing to do with the natural appearance of this boy. Hm.

“I’m Sam, by the way,” Sam beams.

“Castiel.”

At this, the baffling pair of eyes widen for a moment, then seem to be forced back to their original state. Sam thrusts out his right hand in a lurching movement, his smile quivering slightly.

“Sam Winchester.”

Castiel’s lips slacken, a small space forming between his top and bottom rows of teeth in a jolted expression. Of course. It was just his luck that he’d run into Sam Winchester. Younger brother of Dean Winchester, the youthful sophomore that Gabriel had his hopes and dreams depending on and Castiel had never once witnessed in the halls of their school. However, now that he thought of it, Castiel was certain that he’d seen Sam marching about before, or rushing his way to some advanced class, or piling salad upon his cafeteria plate.

“I suppose you’ve heard of me, then,” Castiel supplies, meeting Sam’s firm grasp halfway.

“Yeah, a little. You’re Gabriel’s brother, right?”

“That I am,” he confirms with a nod.

“He’s chaperoning that camp this summer, I heard,” Sam says casually.

“Yes,” Castiel smiles,” he seemed very excited about it.”

“Could you pass on a message for me?” Sam fidgets a bit with this inquiry, Castiel notes.

“I’d be delighted to.”

“Would you let him know that my brother and I will be coming?”

For a second, he stops breathing.

“Your brother?” Castiel can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Dean. He told me you’re in his fourth period?”

“Right! Dean. Hah.”

Sam scrutinizes Castiel with a creased forehead, then relaxes.

“Well, be sure to let him know. We were hoping to catch the bus, if it’s not too late to sign up for that,” the fluffy-haired boy declares. “I’ve actually got to go, I have something to get to. But it was nice meeting you!”

“It was nice meeting you too,” Castiel adds. He gawks at Sam’s shape until he disappears around the corner of the now dingy-looking halls. Nevertheless, Sam's declarations don't matter. Surely, Dean Winchester will not be showing up to the camp this summer, and Sam was just teasing Castiel due to his apparent obsession with Dean. Castiel nods to himself. This has to be the truth.

Five minutes late, Castiel arrives at the location designated for his reunion with Gabriel. His heart is still beating acceleratedly from the run-in with the junior Winchester sibling. Castiel wonders if Sam’s aware of his monumental affection for Dean, as well as his growing hatred for Dean’s infuriating ability to be obliviously flawless, which he manages to morph into a loathing against Dean himself in public.

“Gee, you’re late,” Gabriel comments absentmindedly, pushing himself off of the wall he had been leaning against. “What happened to Mr. Punctual?”

“He perished when Sam Winchester ran into him.” When Castiel finishes his sentence plainly, Gabriel gapes.

“You ran into Sam Winchester? _The_ Sam Winchester? How was it?”

“How was it..?” Castiel questions.

“Yeah, how was it? Did he have that really blank, adorable face? Well, it’s constant, but sometimes, he does it even more than usual, and his eyes get all wide and they do this thing where-”

“Gabriel.” Castiel breaks his brother out of his deranged period of infatuation with an unyielding tone, holding himself back from shaking Gabriel out of it instead.

“Sorry. What’d you say you needed to pick up at the store, again?”

Castiel curses under his breath, his skin tingling from the meager rebellion.

“Mini toothpaste. Thanks for the reminder,” he asserts sarcastically. With that, they’re off to the closest store, which happens to be a small Gas N’ Sip located on the corner of some street that Castiel’s never seen in his life, but Gabriel appears to be thoroughly familiar with. It has an austere exterior, the only pop of color being the faded azure stain of the sign that reads “Gas N’ Sip” and honestly makes Castiel want to claw out his own eyes. Despite this, Gabriel believes that it possesses what Castiel needs, and that’s the important part.

He stalks into the store with a single goal: to purchase the miniature toothpaste. Castiel feels like a ferocious attacker, pursuing his prey and zeroing in on the subject to strike with his powerful paws and eliminate the being. But he isn’t. He’s just a student on the search for the ridiculous addition to the list of requirements for a trip that he doesn’t want to be attending. Really, his life is just tragic.

As soon as Castiel reaches his objective, he is rendered clueless. The toothpaste section consists of brand after brand after brand. He feels like the soldier from that one war movie, something about a hurt locker, wandering mindlessly in the cereal aisle with no determined decision, staring at object after gratuitous object. There are all different kinds of shapes. Castiel sees the conventional tube, a triangular container, a box of toothpaste squares, and finally the miniature toothpastes. Oh my. There’s even more of these. He selects two of them at random, comparing one to the other.

Truly, is there a difference in the effect that “Cleansing Spearmint” toothpaste causes from “Extra-White Natural Mint”?

“Crest?” somebody questions incredulously. “Colgate is obviously the superior brand.”

Castiel breaks his focus on the toothpastes to peek up at the face of Dean Winchester, beautiful as ever. Mentally, he scoffs. There was no luck in Castiel Novak’s world. Not only had he barged into the body of Sam Winchester earlier, but now the older sibling of the previous victim was here for revenge. Or toothpaste. Castiel wasn’t sure.

“Are you here for the toothpaste?” he asks, wanting to confirm, “or simply to vex me?”

Dean picks up a small tube from endless racks, eyeing the label experimentally before replying. “Vex? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Before Castiel has the chance to define the word, Dean continues. “I’m here for the toothpaste, no need to get your panties in a twist.”

“Do you normally buy miniature..” Castiel quickly scans over the title printed on the tube. “..’Maximum Hygiene Cinnamon’ toothpaste at gas stations?” He contemplates what Dean’s breath smells like- probably cinnamon, if he’s genuinely fond of that scent. Nevermind that.

The brunette flashes a grin. “Nah, man. I have to bring it on some trip. I’m being forced to supervise my sixteen year old brother.”

“The summer camp Gabriel is counseling?” Castiel asks, furrowing his brow. Sam Winchester _wasn't_ lying to obliterate any shred of dignity that Castiel had left?

“Oh, god, awkward. Yeah, that one.”

Castiel regards his toothpaste blindly, placing one of the two back on the rack, opting for the spearmint rather than the extra-white whatnot.

“You’re going?” he asks, just to make sure he isn’t hallucinating this whole situation, and Dean won’t be gone the instant that Castiel blinks.

“Mm. You?”

“Yes, that happens to be why I’m here, actually,” Castiel admits.

“You’re getting the mini toothpaste for it, too?” As he inquires, Dean’s eyes flicker over at Castiel, exhibiting their brilliant clinquant. His gaze holds Castiel’s for a moment before fixating back on the toothpastes, and Castiel observes that Dean’s hair is sprouting up in stray shards of brown, and his skin glows in the unnatural light of the gas station aisle, and even though this is literally the weirdest instance and weirdest place and weirdest time that they could ever run into each other, Dean looks (down to his very being) absolutely angelic. It takes a second for Castiel to realize that he hasn’t responded.

“Er, yes. It was included on the program’s checklist.”

“Well, Cas, I’ll-”

“Cas?”

“It’s a nickname,” Dean speaks, his softened face tensing. “If you don’t like it, I don’t-”

“No, no. I like it. I’ve never had a nickname before, actually. Wait. I have. But I don’t really like that one. Balthazar calls me it, and it’s positively aggravating, and-”

“Cas,” Dean cuts him off. “It’s all good. I’ll see you at camp, yeah?”

Castiel seems to blush on the most inconvenient occasions, and this happens to be

one. He’s flustered by the pink tinge, the heat on his cheeks and trailing down his neck to his pale collarbone. Both thankfully and regrettably, Dean is the only person who can make Castiel feel like this.

“Yes, I suppose you will. See you then, Dean.”

Just like that, the glorious boy is gone once again, and Castiel is left for the second time today staring at the retreating form of a Winchester. Once the tinkling of the bells above the door sounds, Castiel faces his toothpaste again.

“This has been the strangest day,” he tells it, before staggering off to acquire the only essential he’d ventured here for and received an abundance more instead of. While doing so, Castiel recalls that he intended to be enraged at Dean and his passion for captivating Castiel with his grand appearance. He'd seemed to have forgotten his motive at the beginning of their exchange. Oh, well. Dean Winchester has a new nickname for him. And now, Castiel is in possession of the mini toothpaste.

Things are shaping up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had alot of fun writing this chapter throughout the week, and found myself getting lost in the words with a couple of Destiel songs. It's really relaxing to lose yourself in a story and ignore any stress (for instance, I had homework that I had yet to complete scattered about my room, and although it sounds cliche, my work was invisible to me as I wrote). 
> 
> Hope everybody enjoys, and stay tuned for the next chapter (I almost typed episode..)!


	4. Motorbreath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Along the musty bus ride, Dean makes a friend.

It’s cold outside. The frigid air is nipping at Dean’s nose, and although he repeatedly scrunches it up in a faint attempt to fend off the chilliness, nothing seems to be working. His nose remains desperately bleak.

“Yeah, I love you too,” Sam mutters reluctantly. He’s trying to brush off Mary and John’s hugs, swat them away like flies, but it’s obvious that he’ll miss them on the trip. There’s only a few breaks, apparently- halfway through the trip for a few days and one that you have the freedom to choose (obviously, they’ll be coming home for John’s birthday in July) for a week. Other than that, their only possibility of communication is through technology, which Dean isn’t quite so experienced with but Sam knows his way around.

And then it’s time for Dean’s goodbyes.

“We’ll miss you, boy, you know that,” John says with a hard clap to his shoulder. “You take care of Sammy.”

“Yeah,” he responds, his throat dry. Mary pulls Dean in for a warmer hug, her arms weaving around him like the toasty blue blanket he’s had since he was a kid.

“Love you, baby,” she whispers into his ear, and he’s reminded of sizzling apple pies and soft hands resting upon his cheek. She smells like lavender blooming in the front yard and rose water lotion from the tiny antiques shop down the road that was one of her Christmas gifts. Judging by her affectionate scent, she still wears it, and that makes Dean smile into her shoulder and close his eyes for a moment before snapping out of it and back into reality.

Then they’re gone.

The bus is appallingly yellow, which happens to be Dean’s least favorite color. The wheels look like they’ve seen better days with their jagged rubber and flimsy scraps and the windows are coated in a thin layer of dust that suggests the old age of the vehicle. As soon as the driver steps out, the air is soiled with the waning smell of cigarettes. A small portion of the kids here seem adjusted to it, what with their school’s reputation for drugs and all things profane, but the other part of the group coughs and covers their noses with their hands. Dean’s unsettled when he sees that Sam is one of the few who isn’t disturbed by the grime until he recognizes that Sam is grinning gleefully instead, as if nothing could defile his mood.

It’s only when the seating commences that Dean realizes that he has nobody to sit with. Dejectedly, he takes his place in the front of the bus as all of the animated teenagers flood into the back of the mechanism. He hardly even glances up when Castiel passes by, his left hand dragging across the frayed material of the seats. Their eyes meet in acknowledgement, and immediately after, it’s clear that every acquaintance available has left Dean- they always do.

“Sup.”

The source of the word is a fair-skinned girl with luminous scarlet locks cascading down her frailer shoulders. Dean peers up at her clear features, her sparkling eyes crinkling with a small turn of the lips. The action reminds him oddly of himself.

“Hey.”

“I’m Charlie,” she states.

“I’m Dean.”

“Can I sit?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

She sits, her small frame fitting easily into the space. The engine of the bus growls. It jerks into motion, sending their heads crashing into the seat behind them. Synchronously, they swear, and recover from the collision finely before glancing up bewildered at each other.

“Jinx,” they call together.

“I said it first,” Charlie defends stubbornly.

“Uh, no. It was kinda obvious that I was the first one, and that you,” Dean retorts, “will be the one owing me a favor.”

“Whatever.”

With a grin, Dean descends comfortably into the hardness of the seat, kicking one of his legs over the other.

“What exactly brings you to the dullest camp in existence, Charlie?”

Charlie drags herself away from her phone with a small huff. “It’s actually pretty simple. My dad has this inconceivable concept branded into his mind that if I get sent to this prison full of dudes, I’ll start liking them as much as he wants me to.”

“So you’re..”

“Lesbian, yeah. I don’t get dicks, I guess. You can probably relate, eh?”

Dean flushes a radiant crimson at the frequently false claim, shying away from the girl with a flick of the eyes, purposefully avoiding her persistent gaze.

“Ah, I see.”

“I’m not gay.”

“Oh really now?”

“I just occasionally admire the same sex,” Dean advocates.

“Usually, that’s defined as gay. Or bisexual, if you like the ladies, too. Lucky for you, I’m incredibly open-minded. Although I don’t think that my indifferency is a family trait.”

“What about your mom?” Dean asks curiously, suddenly able to connect with Charlie’s issue.

“She’s been in the hospital for a little while, now. She and my dad were at home while I was at this stupid sleepover. I tried to call them to pick me up to escape the giggling and gossiping, but there was no cell service, so she went out to get the two of ‘em some dinner, then boom. Car accident.” There’s a reminiscent expression clouding Charlie’s face as she recalls the situation. “Fortunately, she was physically fine after a pretty risky surgery, but she’s been stuck in a coma for a few months. They’re saying she’ll be out of it by August. I’m not really sure why I’m telling you all of this.”

“That honestly sucks ass.”

“It does indeed,” Charlie confirms. “But that’s family, right?”

“Right,” he replies in a smaller voice. They change the conversation after that.

The pair blows past the time by chatting about various obsessions of theirs, as well as guilty pleasures like Doctor Sexy M.D. and Busty Asian Beauties (which, apparently, Charlie owns a collector’s edition of), and by playing a few rounds of “21 questions”, as Charlie immaturely suggests. It’s the first time in a long time that Dean has felt so nerdy, and it’s fucking fantastic. During the middle of their discussion about the new Hobbit movie, the wheels of the bus grind to a stop along the edge of a deserted road only decorated with a grimy gas station and a cramped diner. The driver yells for them to get some grub and be back in twenty minutes; immediately, everything is sweaty bodies moving for the front of the bus. Charlie grabs Dean's arm and lugs him out, opting for the diner.

The diner itself looks completely musty. The walls of it are like cracked eggshells, cluttered by a thick red stripe in the middle. The lines are interrupted by two faded windows that are shrouded by a stained awning, appearing to have lost its previously white shade. Suspended above the building are extensive cherry letters reading “D NER”. Dean decides, as he approaches the structure, that the “I” must’ve been discarded.

“This place must be the life of the town,” he remarks sarcastically.

“It probably won’t last much longer. I give it two years.”

“Two years? More like six months.”

“You wanna bet on it?” Charlie challenges.

“Hell yeah. You already owe me from earlier. Your debt’s just addin’ up.”

Charlie frowns, nudging the door open. At the action, a cluster of bells ring, and a pudgy man emerges from a torn curtain behind the booth.

“Davie’s Diner, what can I help y’all with?” the man -presumably Davie, after all, nobody else is here- enquires cheerily. The bell sounds again as a group of three cackling boys trot in behind them.

“Could we get a menu?” Charlie’s tone has shifted from amused to polite in seconds.

“Oh, hun,” Davie cackles. “We’ve only got four items. Hamburger, cheeseburger, soda, and water.”

“Great,” Charlie mocks. “Can I get the cheeseburger?”

“Same,” Dean echos.

“I’ll have it here in a jiffy,” Davie ensures. He directs his next demand at the remaining customers. “You youngin’s just wait your turn, Davie will be back!” He stumbles back into the kitchen, humming and swinging the fabric closed behind him. There’s a clattering followed by a yelp. Dean and Charlie recede to a booth, slightly puzzled by the man and his odd behavior.

“Can’t imagine why this place doesn’t get more customers,” Dean scoffs.

In a few minutes, Davie returns with their warm meal. Surprisingly, the food isn’t half bad, and the pair leaves a generous tip before withdrawing from the diner with satisfied stomachs and good spirits. Just the fact that he’s made a friend makes Dean feel warm and fuzzy inside, like the mood that washes over you during a close-knit Thanksgiving get together. He can’t seem to get the smile off of his face, and when he does, evidence of it is left behind expressed by the contentment blinking in his eyes. They board the bus once more after stretching out their legs a final time and claim the same spots.

The driver’s barking out the rules of the vehicle, basic emergency procedures, when Dean hears a muffled breath behind him. He casually turns his head toward the back of the bus where the driver is pointing out another exit and flickers his eyes over to the subject of the sound. It’s Castiel, his head slumped out upon another’s shoulder, a narrow slip of drool leaking from the corner of his chapped lips, his intense sapphire eyes blocked by closed eyelids. Every now and then, he draws in a breath or two. His whole face is relaxed, slackened, and his hair is sticking up in every place imaginable. One of his feet is raised and sits atop of the seat, bent at an awkward angle that doesn’t seem to disturb Castiel. His left arm is curled around him, but the fingertips lay limply against the edge of his snug trench coat. He’s utterly at peace. Dean can’t avert his eyes.

“Ehm.” Oh, _shit_.

It’s the adopted British brother whose shoulder holds Castiel’s head. Dean can’t bring to mind the name of this specific sibling- something with bath salts? Who knows. His cheeks light up harshly and Dean pulls away from the two, stiffly facing forward.

Charlie nudges his side.

“What the hell was that about?” she whispers.

“I’ll tell you later.”

There’s a pause.

“Is it a gay thing?”

“Charlie. Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, y'all noticed the Metallica reference as the title. It seemed fitting.
> 
> I was terribly busy this week, so I wrote all of this in about two days (which is not such a great decision, if you're a writer). I actually enjoy writing Castiel's point of view a lot more, but it was awesome to introduce Charlie into the story. She'll be a close friend to Dean throughout and affect some important bits of the plot. 
> 
> Stay tuned for next chapter, hope you enjoyed!


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